


Remus' Birthday

by Peachykeenaspie



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Did I mention angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Janus is the mom friend, Patton makes mistakes, Roman and Remus being bros, Screaming, Sort Of, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Tentacles, The poor bed gets destroyed, Violence against inanimate objects, What Did You Expect, actually, because it's Remus, but that doesn't make him unsympathetic, disturbing imagery, he makes some really hard decisions, he's responsible for the light/dark division of course, just some are more sympathetic than others, not necessarily a happy/sad ending per se, remus is remus, remus is sad, said mistakes are not actually directly in the fic for the most part, the ending is kind of vague, they're all sympathetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachykeenaspie/pseuds/Peachykeenaspie
Summary: The last time Roman and Remus officially shared a birthday, and the first time they spent their birthday apart, was when Thomas was eight. Remus goes on about their birthday for weeks, convinced that even though they live on opposite sides of the Mindscape now, light and dark, they're going to have the best birthday yet.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, PLATONIC THEY'RE BROTHERS DON'T BE GROSS
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Remus' Birthday

**The Before:**

The last time Roman and Remus celebrated the same birthday was when Thomas was eight. It was the first year where Remus and Anxiety and Deceit weren’t living up with the Others, but Remus was absolutely _sure_ it would be his best birthday _yet_. He bounced around like an india-rubber ball for _weeks_ leading up to it, in the Light and Dark commons alike. It was all he’d talk about.

To anyone.

* * *

One month before: “ _You excited for my birthday, nerdy wolverine_?” Logan looked up from his book as a very smelly Creativity popped in. He gave Remus a blank stare, shrugged impassively, and went back to his book. That was just how Logan was. 

* * *

Three weeks before: “ _Heyyyy_ , General Patton!” Remus sang, dangling upside down from the beam above Patton’s bed, something black and oozy dripping from the tip of his nose, and startling the Moral Side awake. “My birthday’s in three weeks! You ready?” Patton jumped, giving a strained laugh. He wished Remus would just stay on the other side of the Mindscape, where he belonged.

“…Not right now.” Patton wanted to let Remus off easy. He didn’t much like Roman’s twin—he always made him feel uncomfortable—but even though Patton had honestly forgotten that the brothers _shared_ a birthday, and he was _so_ glad the Others didn’t live with him and Roman and Logan anymore, of course he didn’t want to hurt his _feelings_ …

Remus shrugged and dropped from the ceiling, bouncing out the door as Patton, unnoticed by him, gave a tiny sigh of relief. 

* * *

Two weeks before: “Emo! Hey, Emo!” Anxiety gave Remus his trademark glare and kept his headphones on, mumbling something about being busy. “My birthday’s in two weeks! You gettin’ me anything nasty?”

“Probably not anything,” Anxiety said bluntly, rolling his eyes at Remus’ crestfallen expression. “I don’t like birthdays, and it’s a lot of pressure.” He gestured to himself. “Anxiety. Get with the program.” Anxiety didn’t want to risk getting Remus something he didn’t like; he figured it would be better for the smaller side if he didn’t disappoint him. 

* * *

One week before: “Hey, RoRo, have you seen DeeDee around? I wanna talk to him about our birthday!” Remus flopped onto Roman’s bed, getting the clean white sheets a lovely, dirty shade of vomit.

Roman gave him a strange look and went back to his easel. “No.”

“I haven’t seen him in aaaages, and nobody’s paying any _attention_ to meeee!” Remus moaned. “I’ve been talking about our birthday for weeeeeks!” He sat up suddenly. “Maybe they’re planning a surprise birthday for us,” Remus said, a twinge of anticipation creeping into his tone.

“Shouldn’t you be on the Dark side?” Roman said flatly, turning back to his painting. 

Remus blew a raspberry. “Naahhh, it’s so _boring_ over there! There’s nobody to annoy! Anxiety’s always listening to _music_ , and not even _good_ music, and Deceit just doesn’t _caaaare_! He didn’t even scream when I pranked him!”

“What did you do?” Roman knew he shouldn’t encourage his brother, but, to his shame, he couldn’t help his curiosity. Patton would scold him for emboldening Remus’ behavior.

Remus giggled. “I hid a little bit of blood and gums under his pillow,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But next time, it’ll be a shrunken head, and it’ll be under _Patton’s_ pillow!” He cackled, grinning at his brother for approval.

He missed the almost imperceptible cringe as Roman turned around, hand on a hip, and gave him another strange look. “…Maybe don’t do that?” he said.

“Why not? It’s so much _fun_! Can you imagine the look on his face?!” Remus didn’t add that Patton would probably just ignore him if he did anything else. He’d never admit it, but he missed living with Roman and his friends. Just a little bit.

Roman shuddered. “I can, actually. And… just don’t,” he said dismissively. “It’s weird.”

Remus shrugged. “Okay, but if you don’t watch out, someone’s going to find some…” (Remus glanced around surreptitiously) “… _Dukey_ in their shampoo!” Remus cackled gleefully, his reedy voice filling up Roman’s room.

Roman said nothing, just pursed his lips a little bit and went back to painting. 

* * *

Three days before: Remus skipped past a locked door, slowing down as he passed it. The thought briefly crossed his mind of going inside and asking the owner about his birthday, but it flew out of his head as soon as he could force it out. Orange didn’t like visitors. 

* * *

Day of: Remus woke on his birthday in a rush. There was a funny wiggling feeling in his stomach (was it happiness, or the centipedes he ate the night before?) as his tentacles grabbed the bar over his bed and swung him off it onto the floor. He cheered for no specific reason, stomped his foot, and clothes appeared.

_This is going to be the best birthday ever!_ His thoughts shouted at him even louder than normal. _A whole day just for me and everything I like!_ What would Dee and Anxiety have planned? His mouth scrunched up in thought. _It better be something good._ His mind was whirring with all the things that could happen as he barreled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

But there was nothing downstairs. No intestine streamers. No normal streamers. No blood-filled balloons. Not even any normal balloons. The kitchen was empty. So was the living room. Remus’ smile faltered. He dug out a kitchen knife and ran back upstairs, running it along the walls and rattling the flat end against the doors. Maybe Deceit and Anxiety and Orange were all still asleep. Maybe he had just gotten up too early. They were going to celebrate later.

But something deep down told Remus that wouldn’t be the case.

And he was right.

* * *

**The After:**

Remus had spent his birthday waiting for something to happen. Orange, as he should have expected, stayed in his room. So did Anxiety, for most of the day. He came out around two for a cup of coffee (even as an eight year old, he was already drinking ‘bean juice,’ as Remus called it, religiously) and mumbled a greeting to Remus, who perked up when he entered. But he just got his coffee, mumbled a goodbye and went back to his room.

And Deceit was in and out all day. Remus asked him if he was forgetting something, and he shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my birthday!” Remus hoped Deceit would get the hint.

But Deceit gave him a sideways look. “We don’t get to have birthdays, honey. And besides, they’re _totally_ not overrated.” He turned away so Remus wouldn’t see how unbearably sad the look in his eyes was. He had to be the parent in their new group, now that Patton had…

It was better for Remus to understand than to labor under a false delusion. They didn’t have the luxuries the Others did anymore, and Remus had to get used to that. Starting with birthdays. If they—Remus, Anxiety, and himself-- got birthdays, then they would want _more_ and that would… that would just hurt. For everyone.

But he still almost cried at the dejected way Remus said, “Oh. That’s okay, I guess.”

“Good.” Remus would come to understand this way. 

* * *

It was when Remus started wandering his side of the Mindscape that everything broke. He had gotten close to the border between their side and the Others’ side, and that was when he heard it. The sound of laughter. The Others were singing Roman “Happy Birthday.” The sound ripped through Remus like pieces of sharp glass, and then he realized in a single instant what Deceit had meant by “we’re not allowed to have birthdays.” He remembered when he had first moved to this side of the Mindscape with Deceit and Anxiety, away from his brother. Anxiety had told him it had something to do with Patton. He didn’t _quite_ understand it. But he _did_ understand that he and Anxiety and Deceit and Orange were the sides that Patton didn’t think Thomas would like. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Logan and Patton didn’t like him being around. And he guessed Anxiety and Deceit didn’t like him around either. And Orange didn’t like _anyone_ being around. And… and Roman didn’t like him around. All those awkward looks, and dismissive glances. And he knew he couldn’t help it, because his function was something that was just…

That’s what he didn’t understand, exactly.

Why his function was so wrong.

Why Patton and all the Others _hated_ it so much.

But he understood in that moment that he was always going to be ignored, because no one thought he was worth the attention. And when he wasn't ignored, he was always going to be hated. And then he realized a fundamental truth.

He was alone.

Even among the “Dark Sides” --he remembered Roman calling them that once—he was completely alone.

Remus grew up suddenly and he grew up in that instant.

He wasn’t going to get a birthday.

He felt the overwhelming urge to run.

So he did. 

* * *

Remus fled to his room and realized that he didn’t know where he would go, so he stood numbly in the center of its usually comforting clutter for a long while, fists clenched. He breathed in the wonderful, stinky scent of mold. It made him feel sick. See, it was things like _that_ , him being _himself_ , that were the reason why he wasn’t going to get a birthday like his brother was. His _perfect_ brother. _He_ got to stay with the others. _He_ got “Happy Birthday” sung to him. The thought filled him with a rage like hot iron. More rage than an eight-year-old should ever have to feel. He kicked his bedpost. It hurt, but it gave Remus a kind of grim satisfaction; like, if it hurt, then at least the _bed_ wasn’t ignoring him. The _bed_ wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t get things like _birthdays_.

He conjured a meticulously wrapped package, long and thin; Remus had planned on giving it to Roman as a present. But why should Roman get _more_ presents? Why should _Roman_ get a happier birthday? Remus hurled it at the wall, where it made an unsatisfying thud and then lay on the floor. Remus was _sick_ of being ignored. He was the unloved brother, even by his brother himself. It’s not like Roman had _noticed_. It’s not like Roman had _invited_ him to the birthday party the Others had thrown for him. So Remus saw no reason why Roman, _perfect_ Roman, who got to live on the _other_ side of the Mindscape and _see Thomas_ , deserved it. His breathing grew more and more spasmodic. His vision grew spotty, and he started to shake, more and more violently. He tensed, his shoulders hunching, and the room grew darker, and he let out a shrill, ear-shattering scream, letting loose his long tentacles on the room, ripping his curtains, knocking over bookshelves and cases of things floating in jars and collections of things that dripped and things that were slimy and things that were creepy and all the things that showed him for _him_ , collapsing the posts of his four-poster bed, sending the clothes and junk on his floor flying everywhere. Remus just kept screaming and screaming. Maybe Deceit or Anxiety or even one of the Others would hear him from one of their rooms and come see if he was okay. But they wouldn’t. His room was soundproof, and they wouldn’t care enough to come looking. So Remus kept screaming, screaming, screaming, a shrill sound that came out of his mouth more like an unearthly wail as his tentacles ripped through everything and destroyed his room and he stood in the center of his own little tornado of chaos and loneliness.

It must have been hours, because once Remus stopped screaming, the Imagination's sky outside his window was pitch-black, he was completely drained and his room was a wreck. He looked around at it all, and some of the rage abated, replaced by a knot in the center of his throat, like his esophagus was about to tear itself right out of him. The Others didn’t like him, but he couldn’t _help_ it. He was still Creativity. He let out a choked cry, a mewl of anguish, as he looked at his beloved collections of slimy things that he had smashed and thrown on the floor. He _couldn’t help it_. He _loved_ being Creativity. He _loved_ being Roman’s other half. He wouldn’t rather be anyone else, really. But he wished, oh, he _wished_ that being the other half of Creativity meant that he could get love too.

Tears pricked his eyes.

He all of a sudden felt overwhelmingly tired; he stumbled over to his bed and collapsed, not even bothering to clear off the splintered post that lay across it. His breath hitched, and then he was crying, loud and snotty and emotional and he was so, _so_ frustrated, because he _loved_ being himself. He _loved_ putting little bits of blood and gums under people’s pillows. He _loved_ startling people awake and annoying his brother, but no one _else_ loved it. They didn’t _understand_. The Others didn’t understand. They didn’t see how _beautiful_ it looked to him when he made a doll out of conjured human body parts, when he spent hours upon hours painstakingly crafting it to look like an actual person, when he used flesh to make sure it looked as _real_ as possible. They didn’t understand that he thought the body parts he conjured _were_ beautiful, and that the beautiful doll he’d made, that they’d scorned and called revolting and thrown on the ground, was what he called art. They didn’t understand the pride he felt when he came up with a new idea for some eldritch abomination and he drew it out on paper in all its gory, colorful detail and then brought it to life to wreak havoc on the Mindscape. They didn’t understand. He couldn’t stop loving being _him_.

He couldn’t stop being himself.

That was the worst part.

He couldn’t bring himself to hate what he loved, just like he couldn’t change his function.

He was the side of Creativity that everyone hated, right? That made everyone uncomfortable? That they wanted to ignore? That they shut out? He _should have seen it all coming._ His fingers knitted in his hair. What was _wrong_ with him? 

* * *

There came a soft knock on Remus’ door. At first he didn’t answer, he just wanted to be left in peace, but then the knock came again, so he stood up and shuffled slowly to the door. He opened it, sniffling, and there stood Roman on the other side, holding a lopsided cake and looking so incredibly awkward and out of place in his dark hallway that he _could_ have laughed.

“What do you want?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He didn’t have the will to be louder.

Roman smiled shyly. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” he said, taking in Remus’ runny nose and puffy eyes, as well as the tiny bits of wood and debris that were stuck in his clothes and hair. His brow furrowed in what would be concern, if Remus didn’t know any better. “Here, I made you a cake.” He held the cake out to Remus. “I made it with mud and worms and stuff. And chocolate.” Remus gave a thin, watery smile despite himself, but didn’t move. Roman peered around Remus to look at the room, and whistled softly at the destruction, but Remus didn’t even bother feeling happy that Roman looked impressed with his horrible, horrible ruination. He wanted to slam the door in Roman’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Is... is this a joke?” Remus asked, on the verge of tears again. Why did Roman feel the need to gloat? “What are you doing here?”

* * *

Roman reddened. He missed Remus, and sharing their birthday. As annoying as Remus was, and as gross as he could be, Roman hadn’t realized that he _missed_ his brother until his friends were singing “Happy Birthday” to him and the only thing he could think about was how he wanted Remus to be there. How was he supposed to express that? “I… um… know we didn’t get to spend our birthday together, so I.. wanted to come by.”

Remus looked down, eyes stormy, lip trembling. Roman cursed himself. He’d said the wrong thing. Why was Remus so upset? His room was even more of a mess than he remembered. Scratch that, his room was in _shambles_. Remus’ eyes were red, and his nose was dripping, and he looked exhausted. _Why was Remus upset_? Was that… a post lying across his bed? He had no idea what to say, so he rubbed the back of his neck, set the cake on the floor, and changed the subject. “I… um… I actually made you a present, too, but I couldn’t figure out how to wrap it… and… anyways… here.”

He snapped his fingers and a shiny morningstar appeared with a pop in Remus’ clenched hand. Remus slowly wiped a sleeve across his snotty nose with a loud sniff, his eyes widening till they were the size of dinner plates. “I’m... sorry,” Roman mumbled. _He hates it._ “I... shouldn’t have given you that, I thought it was a good idea at the time… and I thought you would like it...” Roman shuffled his feet and gestured to the morningstar. “…But I’m sorry for not doing more… and I know I’ve been kind of a jerk to you lately… if you don’t like it, it’s okay... I just thought, y’know, if you’re going to break stuff you should break it with something that’s... your style.”

Remus was completely silent. That was never a good sign.

His brother’s jaw hung open now, but he wasn’t looking at the weapon.

Then Roman was _sure_ he’d screwed up everything even more, made Remus even more upset, and he didn’t even know the _reason_ …

And Remus dropped the morningstar with a thud, trapping Roman in a giant, sudden, enthusiastic hug, burying his curly hair under Roman’s chin. “ _I love it_ ,” he whispered vehemently. Roman was shocked at first, and a little uncomfortable, and there was something sticky in Remus' hair right below his jawbone, but then he returned the hug, holding his brother as tight as he could.

They stood in the hallway like this for a while, Remus sniffling softly, his skinny shoulders shaking a tiny bit. “Are you... crying?” Roman asked, bewildered, looking down at his brother. No answer. Remus just gave him one last squeeze before stepping back, rubbing his eyes a little. Flashing Roman another watery smile, he stepped back into his room, hugging the morningstar to his chest, and started to close the door. “Can I come in?” Roman blurted. Remus gave him a look so panicked he scrambled to justify his question. “You… can’t eat the cake by yourself! I made it, after all, can’t I try it at least?” Remus’ eyes widened again and the door slammed, and Roman sighed. That was it. He just missed Remus. He’d been a jerk the past few months, brushing him off and trying to ignore him, and he didn’t blame Remus for not wanting to talk to him, but at least he’d gotten to see him. Scraping and thunking and crashing came from inside Remus’ room, like his brother was rummaging around for something. Roman turned to go, but after a few seconds, the door flew back open and there was Remus again, still puffy-eyed, but now with a giant grin and a green-wrapped package in tow.

“Here!” He stuffed the present into Roman’s arms. “I got you this!” Roman returned the bright smile, not even caring if it was something eldritch like he usually did, but his smile grew even more overjoyed when he unwrapped it.

“A katana!” he breathed.

Remus looked at him anxiously. “You like it?”

“Are you _kidding_?” Roman laughed. Remus’ face fell, but Roman wasn’t finished. “This is the _best_ present anyone’s ever given me!” Remus slumped practically a mile in relief. His smile returned in full force as he stepped back and opened the door wider.

Roman picked up the cake from the floor and joined Remus in the virtual war zone that was his brother’s room. The Creativitwins sat on the floor amid rubble and scraps of fabric and organs that had fallen out of their glass jars, their katana and morningstar by their sides, eating gloppy mud-and-worm cake with their fingers and laughing well into the morning. Roman couldn’t have been happier in that moment. 

* * *

For now, Remus was feeling a little better. He hated that Roman had everything he didn’t. But he did have Roman. And even if Roman didn’t like him most of the time, something had made him come to Remus’ door with a homemade cake and the most wonderful gift he’d ever received, and he hadn’t scrunched his nose when Remus hugged him and he’d noticed that Remus was crying and he didn’t flinch when he stepped in a puddle of formaldehyde and the cake was delicious and even though the sadness and the loneliness and the glass shards were still there, cutting into his heart and slowly tearing it to shreds, Remus couldn’t have been happier in that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic!  
> (I'm so proud guys)


End file.
